Mortuus sat up with vigilance as he came to. Sweat was dripping down his brow, and his breathing was heavy. "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT??" He shouted. His vision cleared and allowed him to see that Death was hovering over him.
"Now you know his pain. You know his loss." Death said, his hand resting on Jackson's shoulder, but only Mortuus could tell. Jackson was standing beside Death, utterly unaware of his presence. It was somewhat unnerving to Mortuus; he knew that only he could see, hear, and feel the Angel of Death, but something about seeing the ignorance of others was just creepy.
The thought that, at one point, he, too, couldn't sense the dark angel was one he didn't like. Mortuus stood and spoke quietly to Jackson, ignoring the thought. "You poor man, Jack. I'm so sorry." Jackson stared back, confused by what Mortuus was talking about. From his point of view, Mortuus had just collapsed in an epileptic fit, only to sit up and apologize to him like it never happened.
"Why?" Jackson signed to him. Mortuus shook his head, "Never mind." He figured it was best he didn't tell him since he wasn't aware of his wife and kids, much less his grim ending. The report never mentioned he was a father.
Mortuus brushed Death's hand away from Jackson, noticing he still had his grip on him. "Let him be, Grimm." He said firmly, confusing Jackson, who couldn't see the angel. Jackson decided not to pry. Mortuus was known for his unusual behavior, after all.
Mortuus began walking back to the bunker, Jackson following close behind while he hummed Beethoven's Symphony No. 3. He was surprisingly good at humming the melody, sounding precisely like it.
Mortuus opened the curtain, allowing Jackson to enter before him. "Jack, I think you should probably go lie down."
Mortuus entered his room. The blood stains on the walls were reddish-brown, with newer colors still dripping. Scattered across the floor were shards of glass and layers of bandaging that were bright red. He looked over at the mirror. It was split into two pieces by a large fracture down the center.
Beside the mirror and its ravaged sink was the bed. Once a bright white bed on a metal frame with sturdy brown straps, it was now a reddish hue with dozens of tears and slices. The metal frame was slightly rusted from the blood that had spilled onto it, and one leg was dented from Mortuus bashing his head against it.
He sighed as he looked around at the visible suffering. It was as if his whole new life was displayed in the room's appearance. Even the fluorescent light overhead was slightly damaged, with half of it blinking at odd timings.
It was a gloomy-looking room when compared to before Mortuus had awoken. Maybe he could clean it up, but something inside him knew that wasn't a choice. No matter how bad the pain is, it's necessary to remember to know how far you've come.
He moved over to the bed and sat down with a sigh. He reached into his trench coat pocket and pulled out a flask. Staring down at the flask, Mortuus felt empty, like something was missing. He took a swig, the alcohol dripping down his chin. He knew it was basically just water for him, considering his alcohol tolerance, but there was something about that taste of vodka that was so alluring to him.
He wiped it away and looked forward at a sizable sprawled-out blood stain. It was from when he'd held the revolver barrel in his mouth and sent a bullet through the back of his skull. The hole from the shell was there, and he could see the silver of it glistening.
It was a horrible reminder but a constant one that was somewhat needed. Mortuus turned and reached into the drawer beside him. He pulled out a tin with carts and picked up a different pen. Slowly, he twisted the cart onto the cell and clicked the button.
It turned on and began hissing as the marijuana within heated. Mortuus pressed it to his lips and inhaled. Feeling the smoke enter his lungs, Mortuus coughed.
"I really need to find her..." He coughed through bouts of smoke. Mortuus stood and walked to the door. As he passed Jackson's room, he noticed he was asleep.
"For the best that you're asleep right now." He coughed the smoke up. Mortuus couldn't help but feel he was being watched as he began walking to town.
"Don't move." A voice commanded him, a knife to his throat. Mortuus stood still, unsure of what was happening. He was very skeptical of who was controlling him until his vision kicked into gear, and he could see her holding the knife to his throat.
"I don't want any trouble, Campbell," Mortuus said as he felt a cold hand touch his neck, pealing at the bandages he wore. It unwrapped him with the skill that only a nurse could have and tossed the dressings aside.
She stared in shock at how horrible the wounds were below the bandages. She could see Mortuus's spinal cord lying under the thin skin covering it. "Why are you like this?" Campbell questioned him, the knife now slightly shaky.
Mortuus turned slightly to look at her. "My origin isn't happy." He sighed, "Mordecai brought back my life, but my body... It's still just as dead."
Campbell scowled at Mortuus as he mentioned Mordecai. "Don't speak of that man to me." A tear seemed to be at the edge of her eyes. "He's a demon." She added.
Mortuus sighed as he looked into her eyes, "I can understand how you feel." Campbell dragged the knife quickly, slicing Mortuus's throat. She stared in disbelief as Mortuus remained uncaring as if she had simply flicked him.
"You could never know my pain, Mortuus," Campbell spoke, her voice shaking angrily. She closed her eyes as tears fell. "He lied to me. Said I was an angel reborn,"
Mortuus looked at her scars. "But what was wrong about that?" he pondered. She sighed and sat on a log. "I tried to be an angel, but no matter what I did, everything was wrong."
Mortuus opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Campbell, "Then I learned of my true history and realized why." She stared down at the knife in her hand. Her expression changed from one of sadness to one of deep anger. "Now he will suffer. And the one who condemned me to this life shall die."
Mortuus closed his eyes, knowing exactly how she felt. Bolts of electricity began to spark from her as she remembered the past. As she did, Mortuus could hear her mumble a familiar word: 'Vindication.'
The word seemed to trigger something in Mortuus, sending him rearing backward into a hallucination.63Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkQiXhnYqpS
